Left to His Own Devices

Chapter 1 - Memories

"Purple, what is it that you wished to show me?"

The little turtle excitedly stood infront of his father, holding up something that resembled a backpack. It had two straps, one on each side of it, which the turtle swiftly slipped his arms through, the straps now resting upon his shoulders. 
He then turned around, his back now facing Splinter; or rather, what was on his back. It was a makeshift piece of iron armor, shaped to perfectly fit over his soft shell. The work was obviously patchy, the little turtle not having much experience with making anything out of metal, but it was an impressive piece none the less. He had even painted it to match his mask, and at the very top, 'Donatello V-12' was printed in small letters.

"I made a piece of armor to protect my shell in combat! It took a while to make- this is the twelfth model that I put together, but it's really strong!" He then proceeded to turn back around and take the piece of armor off, holding it up and displaying the inside of it. "It's cushioned with foam, which will take the majority of the impact from any blows directed at my shell during combat. Additionally, it's really comfortable to wear. With this, my shell is practically just like Leo's! I've decided to call it the 'Battleshell'!" the little turtle smiled wide, clearly proud of himself, and Splinter momentarily took his eyes off the TV to look down at him.

The little turtle continued to stare up at him, eyes gleaming with excitement, waiting for a response from his father. Splinter leaned back in his chair, a smile flashing across his face before his eyes were yet again glued to the TV, the commercial that was playing a moment ago finally ending. "That's wonderful, Purple! What an... interesting thing you have made! Yes, very creative," he looked back at Donatello for a moment, leaning over to pat him on his head before lazily leaning back in his chair. "My show has come back on, so perhaps you can tell me more about it later?"

Donnie's smile faltered as he realized that his father wasn't even looking at him anymore. It had only been about a minute since he walked into the living room, and the TV had already taken the center stage of his dad's short attention span. He looked down at the battleshell, which was cradled in his arms, then back up at his father; the words he spoke replaying in his head. 'What an... interesting thing you have made' did his father even know what it was that he just showed to him? Was he listening at all? Donnie stood there for another moment, analyzing his father, who seemingly became so enveloped in his show that he was now unaware that his son was still standing there. Donnie silently left the room, dragging his battleshell behind him, the sound from that also going unnoticed by the mutated rat. 

Donnie sat on the floor of his lab, staring down at his old battleshell, recalling the memory of when he had first showed it to his father. A dark expression took over his facial features. This was one of many memories he had growing up where his father neglected to give him any attention.
He had tried his absolute hardest to do anything and everything to earn at least a little bit of praise for his accomplishments, but he was always met with a reaction that went something along the lines of 'that's nice, tell me more about it later' only for his father to inevitably not have any time for him then either. 

Donnie got up from the floor, taking the small battleshell with him. He carefully placed it into a box, which he taped up and stuffed into a nearby closet that held all of his old and unused inventions. He was reorganizing his lab so that he could clean the place up a bit and possibly find some old things he could reuse as parts. He had considered reusing the tiny battle shell, but there wasn't much he could do with it. The foam was old and discolored, and the shell had dozens of tiny dents in it from how frequently he wore it during training. Even the straps were falling apart, which Leo was at fault for after he slashed them with one of his swords during one of their 1v1 training sessions. It was just a piece of junk now, but Donnie felt like he couldn't get rid of it. It was, after all, the first piece of functional armor he had ever made.

He turned his attention away from the closet, now looking at his current battleshell, which rested in a case on the other side of the lab. He went through countless trials and errors to upgrade it to what it was now, but one thing he never changed was his signature label. Every battleshell had 'Donatello V-(insert model number here)' printed somewhere on it, and this one was model V-1342. It reminded him not only of how many upgrades he had made, but of how much time he put into them. Even now though, he felt as though his armor was insufficient. As strong as it was, his brother's natural shells continued to weather more blows and attacks; and while Donnie sat in his lab, buffing out scratches and straightening out dents in his battleshell after a fight, his brothers would simply just clean the dirt off their shells and look unbothered. In comparison to them, even with his tech, Donnie was still weak. A consequence of being a softshell turtle. 

As Donnie stared at his battleshell from across the lab, he suddenly recalled the time when April first learned he was a softshell turtle. The first thing she said to him was, "well, since your shell is soft, in a way that kinda makes you more similar to a human, right? That's pretty cool." To him though, it wasn't. If anything, that statement alone was just another reminder of how much he lacked in comparison to his brothers. Why did Draxum even want to mutate a softshell turtle anyway? What was he thinking? Literally any other species would have been better than him. If he wasn't smart enough to make his own tech, he'd be as good as dead right now.

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*

Donnie was snapped out of his thoughts when he heard a knock at his door.

"Hey Donnie! April just stopped by and brought us pizza! You'd better come out soon or else you might not get a slice. The early worm gets the bird, you know~" Leo sang from the other side of the door, loudly munching on a slice of pizza. Donnie rolled his eyes and walked over to the door, pushing his previous thoughts to the back of his head. As soon as he opened it, he was face-to-face with none other than Leo, who for some reason had a cocky grin on his face. "Nardo, the correct phrase is 'the early bird gets the worm'. What you said doesn't even make any sense," Donnie stated, an unimpressed look on his face as he stepped out of his lab and closed the door behind him.

"Ahh early worm, early bird, who cares which one it is. They both mean the same thing," Leo started walking ahead of his brother, turning around to face him, now walking backwards so that he could look at Donnie as they talked. Donnie rolled his eyes in response and scoffed. "No, they don't. 'The early bird gets the worm' is an analogy for 'the first person that goes somewhere gets the first pick of something'. How is 'the early worm gets the bird' the same thing?" Donnie made his way over to the ladder as they talked, beginning to lower himself down onto it to get to the first floor of the lair, Leo following suit.

"Well, the earliest worm gets the bird because that's the first worm that the bird's going to see, so the bird's going to take that worm," Leo argued, that smug expression still plastered over his face. Donnie got off of the ladder, crossing his arms and turning back to watch his brother, who was still climbing down. "Again, that's not the same thing. The worm doesn't get the bird, the bird gets the worm. Sure, the earliest worm will get taken by the earliest bird, but does it want to get eaten? No. Does the bird want to eat it? Yes. So, your argument makes no sense," Donnie turned away from his brother as he got off of the ladder, now walking off towards the kitchen. Leo lazily followed behind him. "My point still stands~," he said, eating the last bite of his pizza. Of course, he chewed it with his mouth open, which only further annoyed Donnie. He sighed, not saying anything else because he knew that Leo would only just keep trying to prove the same point, no matter how much Donnie tried to explain to him that he was wrong.

To be continued...

Word count: 1525